by Graham Brack
‘About a month, I think. He asked me if I minded, because I was here first. To be honest, we do better when there are a couple of us. It encourages people to stop and look, so I didn’t mind at all. Better than having a musician or a juggler next to you, when they get all the attention.’
‘Did he tell you anything about his past?’
‘He said he’d done this when he was a student. He was good. People used to say how steady we were. Anyway, he’d lost his last job and decided to give this a try.’
‘Thank you. Officer Peiperová will take you somewhere warmer and get a statement from you, if you don’t mind.’
The goddess nodded and allowed herself to be wrapped in Peiperová’s enveloping arm and led away.
Slonský turned back to Novák. ‘You must have something else for me. You always have.’
Novák sucked his lower lip pensively. ‘I could give you an estimate of the murderer’s height,’ he offered.
Navrátil took out his notebook and stood with his pencil poised.
‘I’m pretty confident he’s more than a metre tall, or he’d have had to reach upwards to stab this chap in the back of the neck.’
‘Damn!’ said Slonský. ‘We’ll have to let all the dwarves go. If you don’t have anything useful to tell me, stop taking the mickey.’
‘Then stop asking damn fool questions and let me do my job. Why don’t you go and talk to that other policeman?’
‘What other policeman?’
‘The one getting out of that police car.’
Slonský followed his gaze and fixed on a heavy-set man in a brown belted raincoat and chocolate-coloured fedora who was walking towards him.
‘Have we run out of silver bullets?’ he asked Navrátil.
The new arrival looked at the knight and grimaced.
‘Do you know who he is?’ asked Slonský.
‘Yes,’ came the answer. ‘He’s one of my men.’
Slonský pushed his hat to the back of his head so he could scratch his brow. ‘I know we’ve cut back on overtime, but surely your officers don’t have to moonlight to make ends meet.’
The newcomer winced again. ‘It’s a long story.’
Slonský pointed at the body. ‘Well, he’s got all the time in the world now. By the way, this is Officer Navrátil. Navrátil, meet Captain Grigar. He organises crime.’
‘Not quite right, Slonský. I work in the Organised Crime team. This is Officer Hrdlička. He was working for me.’
‘Covered in silver paint and wearing fancy dress?’
‘It was his idea. He used to do it as a student. He said that a surveillance team would eventually be spotted, whereas he could stay openly in a good position in this disguise without anyone noticing.’
‘He was wrong there, then,’ said Slonský.
‘It worked for a long time,’ Grigar protested. ‘He’s been here over a month.’
‘What’s he watching?’
‘Don’t turn round. That red brick building opposite. We’ve been trying to found out who is based there.’
Slonský beckoned to Navrátil. ‘Come along, lad, give the nice man your list.’
Grigar goggled at the photocopied sheet that Navrátil passed him. ‘How did you get this?’
Navrátil had been brought up to believe that honesty is the best policy, so he told the truth. ‘I asked for it, sir.’ He explained the events that had produced the list for him.
Grigar was never the most animated of souls, but now he looked positively downcast. ‘What now?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ said Slonský, ‘this looks like a murder to me, and murder is my province. Of course I don’t want to mess up your investigation so you’re welcome to hang around, but it’s my show.’
Grigar nodded his assent.
‘However,’ said Slonský, ‘it would be good to check out the inhabitants of that block as quickly as possible just in case someone has seen something, and no doubt you’d like to take a sly squint at the place, so how about we take a floor each? Since Navrátil speaks English, he’d better do the top floor. I’ll do the middle floor with Mr Nejedlý at this side, and you, Grigar, can do the first floor, where the Bosnian gentleman hangs out.’
‘And the ground floor, sir?’ Navrátil enquired.
‘Unless they’ve got x-ray vision, lad, they won’t have seen through that brick boundary wall. The tenants at the far side probably won’t have seen anything either, but let’s make a note of their names for the future anyway.’
They crossed the road and marched into the red brick building, Slonský and Grigar flashing their badges. The doorkeeper goggled as they went past and hissed at Navrátil. ‘What did you bring them for? I said I’d sort the rats out.’
Navrátil opened his mouth to explain, but Slonský got in first. ‘There’s been a murder on the river bank. Navrátil was discreetly checking whether the murderers were hiding here.’
‘Murderers? Not rats?’
Navrátil shook his head sadly.
‘Jesus Maria. Murderers!’ mumbled the doorkeeper. ‘That’s probably worse than rats,’ he added as he returned to his post.
Grigar found Savović sitting at a desk. Grigar explained what had happened, and Savović promptly displayed his passport, a residence permit, his lease and anything else Grigar could think of to enquire about.
‘Have you noticed the knight outside?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ said Savović. ‘He’s good. Sometimes I’ve stood at this window drinking a coffee and he hasn’t twitched all the time I was drinking it.’
Grigar distrusted the Bosnian’s openness. The more innocent he appeared, the more Grigar felt uneasy.
‘He’s a police officer, and he’s been stabbed. Did you see anything?’
‘No,’ Savović answered. ‘If I had, I’d have called the police. But in any event I haven’t been facing the window. As you can see, my desk faces into the room.’
Grigar nodded. ‘May I ask what you do for a living, sir?’
‘Entertainment. I’m a sort of impresario. I bring dancers to the clubs. There’s no law against it, is there?’
‘Not if they’re legal immigrants and there’s no coercion.’
‘That’s what I thought. I could give you names if you want.’
‘That would be good.’
‘I’ll have a list put together and fax it to you. The police have a fax machine, I suppose?’
‘Several.’
Navrátil was making heavy weather of questioning Mr Brown, the American gentleman on the top floor. Despite watching a lot of American films and police shows, Navrátil found Mr Brown’s accent difficult to penetrate.
‘Athens,’ Mr Brown helpfully repeated. ‘Not the one you’re thinking of — the one in Georgia. And not the Georgia you’re thinking of — the one in the United States.’
‘And you are a writer?’
‘A travel writer. I produce guide books mainly. I pay my way by teaching a little English when I can. But at the moment I’m working on a biography.’
‘Whose biography, if I may ask?’
‘You may, officer. A biography of your President Edvard Beneš. I know he died in 1948, but he isn’t well known in my country, you see.’
Navrátil duly made a note.
‘A person was stabbed on the bank outside earlier this afternoon, sometime between four and five o’clock. Did you see anything?’
‘I saw the crowd gathered around the knight. Was it him?’
Navrátil nodded slightly.
‘My word! How could anyone stab a person in broad daylight on such a busy street?’
‘That’s the question I have to answer, sir.’
Slonský had less luck. Mr Nejedlý was out. The doorkeeper produced a spare key on request, so the three detectives entered and fanned out to have a quick look round.
‘And if Nejedlý returns?’ asked Grigar.
‘We’re in hot pursuit of a murderer. He may be holed up in this building. That justi
fies checking every square metre, just in case. But we’d better not disturb drawers and cupboards.’
They walked around for a few minutes, then Slonský declared himself satisfied, so they locked the door and returned the key.
‘I suppose he could have killed Hrdlička and then fled,’ offered Navrátil.
‘That’s possible,’ conceded Slonský, ‘but it doesn’t explain why he waited until we were on site before he left.’
‘How do you know that?’ demanded Grigar.
Slonský displayed his hand with a red mark at the base of his thumb.
‘His kettle is still hot,’ he explained. ‘As I discovered when I touched it.’
Lukas frowned. This damn shoes business was beginning to get to him. He could not get a sensible answer out of Slonský to the perfectly straightforward enquiry as to why the latter needed uniform shoes. Slonský had grudgingly noted that although he had managed without them for some time, he had been acutely aware that when they visited important people he did not have a presentable uniform to wear. That was undoubtedly true, but it was also true of his civilian clothes, most of which would have disgraced a charity shop. Lukas had tried to arrange that Slonský was kept away from the powerful people of Prague, but since two recent cases had required him to question successive Ministers of the Interior that had not been entirely possible. Slonský was disrespectful, thought Lukas. He thought ministers were shifty, devious, lying scum. Unfortunately he was quite often right about that, but it did not do to say so, especially to them.
He was also concerned about Peiperová. One moment she was being used as some sort of domestic servant, fetching coffee and sandwiches and not doing real police work, and the next she had been sent out into some of the seediest areas of Prague to question the girls in the clubs. Slonský had justified sending her on her own by explaining that women were more likely to talk to women, and that Navrátil would be less than a hundred metres away in an unmarked car. Lukas could not help thinking that Navrátil, however game and devoted to Peiperová, was no match for the average pimp’s team of thugs. Slonský acknowledged that, but pointed out that Navrátil was equipped with a sniper’s rifle with a laser sight.
‘Has he ever fired one?’ asked Lukas.
‘No, but it wouldn’t help if he had. He doesn’t have any ammunition, just in case he hits Peiperová. The idea is that if he gets the red light on their hearts they’ll assume a bullet is on its way, so they’ll be compliant.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘I guess he’ll have to shout bang very loud and hope they don’t realise he’s bluffing.’
‘I don’t find that very reassuring, Slonský.’
‘I could give the rifle to Dvorník, sir.’
Lukas winced. Lieutenant Dvorník had such confidence in his own firearms ability that he had shot a suspect who was holding his own wife hostage while Slonský was standing a couple of metres away. The thought of the things he might try with a sniper’s rifle was acutely unsettling and Lukas began to feel another bilious attack coming on.
‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, and ran to the washroom.
Peiperová was beginning to doubt the idea of a universal sisterhood. The girls in the club had made it abundantly clear that she was about as welcome as a dose of thrush and they were unwilling to talk.
‘I don’t want to muscle in on your job,’ she remarked.
‘Just as well, dear,’ one replied. ‘You haven’t got the boobs for it.’
Peiperová sat on a stool and waited. If it became clear she was going to sit there until she got an answer, perhaps they would cave in. Eventually, one did.
It was the tall girl with a beehive hairstyle who worked under the name of Medusa. She waited until the others had gone out to the dance floor before quickly responding to the question she had been asked fifteen minutes earlier.
‘We don’t have Balkan girls here. We’ve been offered them, but the boss knows they don’t want to do it and he says they’re miserable cows. They’ve got some at the Padlock Club. Know it?’
Peiperová confessed that she did not, so Medusa gave her some brief directions before following her colleagues. It was about a ten minute walk to the Padlock Club, which was anything but discreet. There were large windows that gave tantalising glimpses of the interior courtesy of large rotating mirrors carefully positioned so as not to identify any customers. As Peiperová approached the door a large man stepped from the shadows to block her way.
‘Men only, love,’ he announced.
‘Isn’t that discriminatory?’ Peiperová asked.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Haven’t I got just as much right to look at the girls as a man?’
The bouncer thought about this for a moment. ‘If it was up to me, you would, but it isn’t, and you can’t.’
Peiperová issued a deep sigh. ‘I was hoping not to have to be formal,’ she said, ‘but this is official.’ She produced her badge. ‘No doubt you’ll know that impeding a police officer is a serious offence,’ she continued. ‘And I’m sure you don’t want any trouble.’
‘What do you want?’
Peiperová fished in her pocket and produced a photograph of Savović. ‘Has this man been here?’
There was just enough hesitation to tell her the answer.
‘I don’t see everyone who goes in.’
‘That’s an unusual thing for a doorkeeper to admit. Tell you what — I’ll come again with my boss in a couple of days. You have a good think about what you remember.’
Slonský inspected his watch. ‘The big question is: do we turn the club over now, or have a mid-morning coffee first?’
‘I’m not thirsty, sir,’ Peiperová responded. Navrátil nodded vigorously, partly because it was true but mainly because he wanted to appear supportive of her.
‘You don’t want to go searching on an empty stomach,’ Slonský announced, but then added, ‘but I suppose we’re only scouting out the lie of the land at the moment. Come on, then. Navrátil, make sure you lock the car properly. There are some shady characters around here.’
There was a different doorman standing guard at the Padlock Club. A brief glance at him told Slonský that he was unlikely to be a champion crossword solver.
‘Good morning,’ Slonský said cheerily, waving his badge. ‘We’ve come to pay you a visit.’
The doorman seemed unsure whether to let them pass unopposed but it was taking him too long to make up his mind and Slonský was inside before he found his voice to protest. ‘I’ll have to tell the boss you’re here.’
‘No need,’ Slonský told him. ‘We’ll find our own way round. You don’t want to leave the door unguarded, do you?’
The doorman turned back, but a second thug had appeared from a small room off the corridor. He must have been watching the door on closed circuit television and stepped out briskly, as betrayed by the ketchup round his mouth.
Slonský grabbed Navrátil’s arm. ‘No, lad! Don’t attack till I say.’
Thug B looked at each in turn. ‘Him? Attack?’
Slonský was at his most affable. ‘He’s our best. You don’t think someone that weedy could get by if he wasn’t really good at it? Hands like lightning.’
Despite his best efforts, Thug B’s face displayed a flicker of concern.
‘You may find this hard to credit,’ Slonský said in a stage whisper, ‘but this lad is so slick with a flick-knife he can arrange which of your trouser legs your balls are going to drop down. I’ve never actually seen him do one each side, but he says he can.’
Now Thug B was convinced. He had a job to do, but with only a baton tucked in his belt he knew he was no match for a castration-fixated ninja with a conjuror’s hands. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, semi-graciously.
‘That’s nice,’ Slonský said approvingly. ‘I always appreciate a public-spirited citizen who is prepared to help us in our never-ending quest to stamp out crime. We’ve been asked by our colleagues in Bosnia to find
some girls who have been abducted. Our enquiries have led us here.’
‘The girls aren’t in yet.’
‘I didn’t think they would be, which is why we came early. That way you can take your time giving us a list of your girls’ names so we can check them out and come back later with the warrants nicely filled in.’
‘All our girls are…’ He paused, searching for the most appropriate word. ‘Volunteers.’
‘You mean they dance for nothing? Actually, I can believe that. Your boss isn’t a big payer, is he?’
‘He’s all right,’ Thug B mumbled. ‘Looks after us.’
‘I bet you don’t get private health insurance? No, I thought not. Not even free Metro passes.’
‘Ah, we get them!’ snapped the big man in black. ‘We get the free trips on the Metro to get to work.’
Slonský leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘You might. I’m not so sure all your colleagues do.’ He nodded towards the outer door. ‘And if you’re getting things others don’t get, what do they get that you don’t?’
That this had struck a chord was clear from the deep frown crossing Thug B’s brow as he lapsed into something approaching thought.
‘That list,’ Slonský prompted. ‘Peiperová will write it down for us. Meanwhile Navrátil will have a little look around just to see that none of the girls have sneaked in.’
On a signal from Slonský, Navrátil inched past his back and continued along the corridor.
‘Oh, and Navrátil!’ Slonský called. ‘No unnecessary violence, please. Keep the choke chain in your pocket.’
Navrátil, though bewildered, nodded assent, noting with a little satisfaction that the hoodlum appeared very wary of him.
In the old days, mused Klinger, there was no freedom but there were lots of card indexes, upon which the maintenance of the communist state depended. In offices throughout Prague you could find banks of drawers containing millions of cards recording most aspects of people’s lives.
Then the wall came down, liberty was ushered in, and the card indexes became a matter of history. Computers arrived, and now it was possible for him to check in just a few minutes how many times Smejkal had left the country and where his immediate destination was. In the past it would have taken him weeks to discover this, but such is progress, sighed Klinger.